TruthDare
Kate barely makes it up the stairs before she’s muttering something about her head and collapsing face-first onto her bed. I pull the covers over her, kick her shoes off, and linger for half a second, making sure she’s breathing evenly.
She is. She’s out cold.
Which means I’m not alone anymore.
Because when I step back into the hallway, he’s there.
Leaning against the wall opposite, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar undone, eyes black as sin. Waiting.
The air shrinks between us.
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” he says, voice low, rough.
“She’s your daughter,” I shoot back, arms folding across my chest. “Maybe you should be the one telling her that.”
His mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. It’s darker. “Maybe I was talking to you.”
Heat slams into my spine. I want to tell him I wasn’t drunk; I want to tell him he’s infuriating—but all I manage is, “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He pushes off the wall, closing the space between us in two steps. “Then you can play a game with me.”
I blink. “A game?”
His hand brushes my wrist, not enough to grab, just enough to scorch. “Yes. A game.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You will be.” His voice drops lower, silk over gravel. “It’s called Truth or Dare. Except there are no truths. Only dares. And you don’t get to say no.”
My throat dries. “That’s not a game. That’s—”
“Control,” he finishes for me, leaning in until his mouth grazes my ear. “And you like it.”
I should walk away. I should slam my door and lock it. Instead, I whisper, “What if I lose?”
“You won’t.” His breath burns against my skin. “Because losing means I stop touching you.”
My heart stutters.
“What’s the first dare?” I ask, voice almost a whisper.
His smile finally shows, wolfish and obscene. “Take off your dress. Right here in the hall. Nice and slow. And don’t look away from me while you do it.”
His dare hangs in the air like smoke. My dress suddenly feels too tight, the hem burning against my thighs.
“You’re insane,” I murmur.
He doesn’t blink. “You’re stalling.”
I should walk away. I should laugh it off. But my fingers betray me, slipping to the zipper at my hip. The sound is a whisper in the hallway—sharp, metallic, obscene.
“Slower,” he orders, voice rough enough to scrape bone.
So I go slower. Tugging the zipper tooth by tooth, watching his eyes narrow as the fabric loosens over my skin.
When it finally drops to the floor, pooling at my ankles, I’m standing in nothing but nerve endings.
He tilts his head, a predator studying prey. “Good girl. Dare two—” He drags his thumb across his lower lip, like he’s tasting me already. “Touch yourself. Right here. Hands where I can see them.”
My breath catches. “Someone could wake up—”
“She won’t. And even if she did…” His grin cuts deep. “Wouldn’t that make it filthier?”
My pulse roars. But I can’t look away. My hand trembles as it trails down my stomach. Heat licks up my thighs, shame and want clawing at each other until I’m not sure which is winning.
He leans back against the wall, watching me unravel like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. “That’s it. Let me see how desperate you get when it’s not my hand inside you.”
“God, you’re cruel,” I whisper.
“And you’re still obeying.”
My body betrays me with a gasp. My knees almost give out. He chuckles low in his throat. “Dare three—stop.”
I freeze, trembling, teeth sinking into my lip.
“Beg,” he says.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Dean—”
“Say it,” he growls, stepping in until his chest almost brushes mine. “Beg me to let you keep touching what’s mine.”
My voice shatters on the words. “Please, Dean. Please let me touch your pussy.”
His eyes darken like a storm in water. “Better. Dare four—” His hand snakes into my hair, yanking my head back until my throat is bared. “Tell me one thing you want me to do to you tonight.”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Heat, fear, ache—everything collides until I don’t know what’s left of me.
“Say it,” he urges, tugging harder, that sadistic grin eating me alive. “Be a good girl and confess how you want me.”
The hallway hums around us, thick with silence and danger. My throat is still caught in his grip, head tilted back, body wired like live electricity.
“One thing,” he rasps, his mouth close enough that I feel the scrape of his breath. “One filthy little truth. Say it.”
“I—” My voice cracks. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. His stare burns through my skin, dragging the truth out of me, anyway. “I want your mouth on me.”
His chest rumbles with a dark laugh. “Where, Brooklyn?”
Heat floods my face. My thighs press together.
“Say it,” he snarls, jerking my head back harder.
“My pussy.” The word is a desperate exhale, filthy and trembling.
He groans low, like the confession punched straight into his cock. His hand slides down, cupping between my legs sliding his fingers through the wet mess.“Dare five—say it louder.”
“No.”
His grip tightens until my breath hitches. “Say it.”
“My pussy,” I gasp, shame ripping through me, need chasing right after it. “I want your mouth on my pussy.”
“Good girl.” His smirk is carved in sin.
The possessiveness in his voice makes my knees weak.
“Dare six.” His grin turns lethal. “Open your legs and let me look.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. My arms cross as if I can shield myself. “You can’t do this.”
“Baby girl, you’re stalling.” His hand slides down my thigh, prying me apart until I’m spread against the wall, bare and trembling. His eyes drop. “Fuck. Look at you. Wet already.”
My chest heaves. I want to die and come alive all at once.
He steps closer, his body crowding mine. “Dare seven—touch yourself again. But this time, say my name while you do it.”
I hesitate.
“Do it, or I’ll make you beg on your knees where anyone could walk out and see you.”
My hand shakes as it slips between my legs. My fingers brush wet heat, and I bite back a whimper.
“Dean,” I choke out, my body arching against the wall.
He groans, eyes blazing. His hand slams against the wall beside my head. “Again. Slower, Brooklyn. I want to see all of you, baby.”
My fingers slide through the wet mess between my thighs with every slow movement; pleasure shoots up my spine.
“Good girl, look at me while you ruin that pussy.”
My eyes raise and find his as my fingers slide into my dripping pussy. His stare is feral, and I swear I could cum from that look alone.
My fingers move deeper, soaking my fingers with every pulse. My breathing is ragged pushing deeper while I stare into his eyes, enjoying the response my body is giving him.
“Dean.” I moan. Louder this time, rawer, breaking.
He watches me come undone, his control snapping thread by thread. “Dare eight—make yourself cum for me. Right here. Against this wall.”
My whole body seizes at the command. My hips rock helplessly into my hand, heat building too fast, shame burning away under the weight of his stare.
But his hand closes over mine before I can fall apart, yanking it away.
“Not yet,” he growls, eyes wild. “You don’t get to finish until I decide.”
His grip pins my wrist above my head, my own fingers slick against my palm, denying what they started. His eyes don’t blink, don’t soften, just burn down through me like fire.
“You thought I’d let you cum without me?” His voice is a growl laced with satisfaction. “You’re mine to break, Brooklyn. Not yours.”
My chest heaves against him, lungs tight, body trembling like a bowstring ready to snap.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Dare nine. Say something you’ve never admitted to anyone.”
I shake my head hard, trying to turn away. “No.”
“Yes.” His hand fists tighter in my hair, jerking me still. “Confess, or I’ll knock on Kate’s door right now and let her see exactly what her little friend is doing with her daddy in the hallway.”
My stomach twists. “You wouldn’t.”
His smirk is feral. “Try me.”
The words claw out of me, small and broken. “I—” My throat seizes. Shame gnaws through me. “I like it when you ruin me.”
He freezes for a beat. Then his laugh rumbles, dark and devastating. “Of course you do.” His mouth drags along my jaw, almost a kiss, but not quite. “That’s why you keep crawling back to me.”
I want to scream. I want to melt. I want to claw his eyes out and beg him to fuck me until I can’t stand.
He doesn’t let up. His thumb drags over my lip, slow, obscene, like he’s testing how close I am to shattering.
“Dare ten.” His tone sharpens like a blade. “Kneel.”
My eyes widen. “Dean…”
“Kneel.”
The hallway feels tighter, smaller, my skin hot and raw. But my knees buckle anyway, the carpet burning as they hit the floor. He stands over me like a shadow, looking down at me with hunger and victory in his eyes.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs. His hand tangles in my hair again, forcing me to look up at him. “You look right where you belong.”
My heart slams. The ache between my thighs is unbearable. “You said dares,” I whisper. “Not orders.”
His grin cuts deep, merciless. “Tell me this doesn’t feel like both.”
The carpet scrapes my knees, the burn only making me more aware of how helpless I look like this—kneeling in front of him, in his hallway, his hand curled tight in my hair.
I hate it feels right.
He tilts his head, studying me like prey that’s already tangled in his snare. His thumb drags across my bottom lip again, slow, pressing until my mouth parts. He doesn’t move it inside, doesn’t push further. Just lets the tension coil.
“Dare eleven.” His voice is gravel, low and intimate. “Beg me to let you stay here. On your knees. In my house.”
The words slice through me. My pride twists, hot and sharp, but the ache between my thighs begs louder than my dignity.
I swallow hard. “Dean…”
His grip tightens, jerking my head back just enough for my throat to bare. His smirk is a knife. “Don’t stall. Beg.”
Heat crawls down my neck, shame wrapping around me like chains. My lips tremble, but I force the words out. “Please… let me stay.”
He hums, pleased but unsatisfied. “Not good enough.” His knuckles graze my cheek, tender in a way that makes me shiver. “Try again, Brooklyn. Convince me.”
My chest heaves. My voice cracks. “Please, Dean. Please let me stay here—on my knees. Please don’t send me away.”
His eyes darken, a flash of hunger that makes my stomach flip. “Better.”
He doesn’t move, just holds me there in that unbearable silence, my pulse loud in my ears.
“Dare twelve,” he murmurs, crouching down until his mouth hovers close, his breath fanning over my lips. “Tell me what you’d do if I unzipped my pants right now.”
I gasp, heat flooding me, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t let me look away.
My throat is dry. My voice is faint. “I’d… take you in my mouth.”
His nostrils flare. He chuckles, low and dangerous. “God, you’re shameless.”
His thumb slips into my mouth now, pressing my tongue down, making my lips close around it like the filthy promise I just made. My cheeks burn, humiliation sparking hotter than ever, but my body betrays me—I moan around his thumb.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He pulls his thumb free, dragging it over my chin, leaving me wet and wanting.
Then he straightens, towering over me again. “Dare thirteen…” His smirk is wicked, cruel. “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t touch yourself. Don’t speak. Just kneel until I decide you’ve earned the next one.”
He turns, walking toward his office like he didn’t just set me on fire and leave me choking in the smoke.
And I stay there.
Shaking.
Burning.
Waiting.
Because it’s a game.
And I’m already losing.